The Boy With The Blood On His Hands
by TheMutualEnemy
Summary: Peeta Mellark, the Boy with the Bread. We never see what he thinks, how he feels, or his true colours when landed in the midst of a deadly murder contest. Who is the Boy with the Bread? Let the Games begin... The Hunger Games from Peeta's POV.
1. Chapter 1

As I wake up, I reflect that I will need a hell of a lot of courage to get through this day. Of course I know that today luck will have more to do with it than anything else. I run a comb through my hair, but my hands are shaking too much for it to be beneficial.

Nayhan, my brother, is groaning amid the twisted sheets and I quickly vacate my place before the mirror before he can wake up properly and start romping on me for ruining his beauty sleep – not that it does him any good.

The kitchen is dark when I come down, and as I shrug into my faded overalls, complete with the encrusted layers of flour, I can feel the familiar Reaping day fear starting to creep in, and it makes the kitchen look darker still. I finish packing the loaves into the ovens and tear off the apron, it is so worn with use it hardly serves its purpose anymore.

My feet take me along the well-worn streets to the Seam, and there seems to be an even stronger sense of foreboding here. Windows are shuttered, doors are locked tight, the people here are bracing themselves for what is to come. People in the Seam were chosen as tributes nine times out of ten. I feel suddenly breathless, and unbidden my mind begins calculating.

Every teenager has their name entered into the Reaping ball once a year, from the age of twelve to eighteen. However, the entries are cumulative, so while at thirteen your name is only entered once, you still have the entry from when you were twelve to deal with. At the surface, it does not seem as though you can be entered that many times.

However, each family also has the option to ask for tesserae, a meagre supply of grain and oil for one person that should last a year. The payment for this is to enter your name once more for each load of tesserae that you ask for – and this can be done for your entire family. When you have a large family and your only way to survive is to get tesserae – which are also cumulative – the entries can add up.

The memory from four years ago pushes itself into my thoughts. It is referred to as the Dark Year in my family. The year we had to pay off the Peacekeepers to let Brion – my oldest brother – off the hook for being caught going into the woods. The amount required for the bribe had left my family broke for the entire year, and I had to take tesserae for each member of my family, as I was the youngest and had the least entries. We never talk about that year, mainly because it makes everyone uncomfortable that my name is in many more times than Nayhan's. Ten times my name is entered in today, but that is a pittance compared to some of the Seam dwellers.

One particular person came to mind. Katniss Everdeen, the girl who can make the birds fall quiet. Her name is also in the Reaping ball five times, yet I am under no illusions that even with her hunting, she could have fed her family single-handedly without signing up for tesserae. I doubt that she would let her sister take the bullet either. That would mean that with three of them her name is be in twenty times. I wince as the growing probability of her selection dawned on me. I feel slightly dizzy as I imagine her name being drawn out of the Reaping ball. I take a deep breath and push the thoughts aside. I have managed to meander to the square.

It is adorned in brightly coloured banners flying from the shop faces. A large screen is being propped up on heavy metal poles, ready to display to all of District 12 the history of Panem. Peacekeepers swarm all over the place, like a hoard of pristine white wasps. A large poster asks District 12 to celebrate the Hunger Games with pride.

I want to double over and be sick, but instead I turn and walk the other way – I am determined not to let the Peacekeepers see me nauseated by the prospect of the Reaping. The panic begins to flutter in my chest again, yet I'm not worried for myself. I am terrified that Katniss will have her name pulled from that dreaded Ball, and that she will be sent off to her demise before the day was out. My fingers flex and I imagine a piping bag and the assured movements of my hands as I ice one of the cakes.

My mother is up when I come in, but we have a silent truce that today we will be civil, and so she does no pass comment as I take down one of the freshly made sponge cakes and begin to decorate it. The activity brings be some semblance of peace, and for almost half an hour I work on the icing, which depicts a perfect autumn leaf that I sometimes find blown over from the Meadow.

Of course the woods make me think of Katniss, and soon my hands are shaking too much and I have to stop. The cake looks finished, though I had intended to add some dappled light falling across the leaf, as though it were on the forest floor. My father is at the stove cooking a squirrel, and my heart skips. Was Katniss here trading?

I hear the rest of my family moving upstairs and with a sigh I leave to join them. I pass my mother on the way to my room. Her face is ashen, contrasting badly with the pale pink dress that hangs loosely from her frame. I turn my head, I do not want to meet her pitying gaze. I push the door to my room open and nearly bump into Nayhan. I mumble apologies as he pushes past me, yet he does not do it with his usual aggressive gusto. He must be feeling a little sentimental. Not unusual for today.

I find my smart linen shirt and a pair of freshly washed trousers and threw them on. It hardly seems a fitting outfit to receive a death sentence in, but everyone wears their best at the Reaping.

When I come downstairs again my brothers are outside waiting to go, kicking stones around the garden in a restless kind of way. The smell of squirrel, now stewing in a pot, makes me feel sick, and even being near my brothers seems preferable to that. Brion is trying to act supportive and mature – he can afford to now that he is past Reaping age, but Nayhan is buzzing with nervous energy.

"Want to wrestle", he asks immediately as I step outside.

"Nope", I reply airily.

"What, are you scared?", he goads as I pass him.

"No, I just don't want to spoil you for the Capitol".

He blanches at that, and I feel a small twinge of guilt at bringing up the Reaping when all he is trying to do is distract himself from that very thing.

We walk to the square together, yet somehow apart. This is a typical defence mechanism, unconsciously everyone does it on the Reaping day. They distance themselves from those that they love until the day is over. That way, if they are chosen, it is not so hard, they are already dead to you, already a world away in your mind. When we arrive I join the floods of teenagers heading to the desks where the Peacekeepers take a blood sample. It's a pretty fail-safe way of ensuring that everyone eligible for the Games attends. The adults have to sign in and anyone who doesn't come, unless they are dying, is hauled off to prison once the Reaping is over.

At this point I hardly notice the prick, my eyes roam the lines of potential tributes for Katniss. She is not far from me, holding her sister's hand in a firm grasp. She turns to give her sister – Primrose I think her name is – a hug of support before moving to stand in the area roped off for the sixteen year olds. She does not see me staring at her, she never does. I shake off the hurt, she is probably worried about her sister, though I know that she could only be in once. Compared to Katniss she is practically immune to being chosen, the odds are so slim they may as well be non-existent.

As two o'clock nears, the tangible sense of fear is heavy in the air. People fidget, mother's cry as they say goodbye to their children, and the few lowlifes uncaring enough to place bets call excitedly over the crowds.

The mayor arrives on the stage and looks around nervously as he smoothens the creases in his suit. Peacekeepers surround the stage and stand watching the rows of kids waiting in nauseating silence for Effie Trinket to arrive on stage. The mayor reads the history of Panem, and as he does a screen plays a video depicting the events in time to him at the side of the stage. He reads the same speech every year, and every year we are told of how a great country rose from the ashes of a continent once called North America, of the thirteen districts ringed around a glorious Capitol who provided the districts with protection. Protection against what, the speech never mentioned. Then came the uprising where the thirteen districts rebelled against the Capitol, who had given them all that they had. This rebellion was a terrible time where many lives were lost, but in the end twelve districts were defeated and the thirteenth destroyed so that the land might be at peace again. The Treaty of Treason had given Panem the Hunger Games.

That is the reason that we are all here, and the reason why so many of us are not here -The Hunger Games, when two tributes are chosen to represent their district, one boy and one girl who are put into an arena with twenty two other tributes, two from each of the other districts. In total that made twenty four teenagers, who could be aged from twelve to eighteen. Twenty four sons and daughters who would then have to fight to the death until only one tribute remained. The Victor.

There is a sparse applause as Effie Trinket takes to the stage. She totters about in her high heels, her ridiculous hair looks especially vibrant against the drab grey shops surrounding her. She smiles an overtly large grin, her cheer is utterly unsuited to the occasion, and she moves to the microphone. She goes on about what an honour it is to be here, and praises the mayor, who in turn introduces District 12's one surviving victor. Haymitch Abernathy falls onto the stage, obviously drunk off his face. He picks himself up and staggers over the Effie, enveloping her in what must be a fairly repulsive hug. After ridding herself of all unwanted Haymitch, she once again strides over to the microphone. She smiles her winning smile, and breathes in the high pitched Capitol accent;

"Happy Hunger Games, and may the odds be ever in your favour"

As she starts to gush about the speech, my attention shifts to the two great glass balls that are perched on the stage. They contain thousands of slips, and twenty of them have Katniss Everdeen written on them.

Finally, Effie says, "Ladies first", with a sick kind of cheerfulness and reaches for the girls Reaping Ball. My breath catches in my throat as I look toward Katniss, and see her face drain of colour. Effie's talons reach into the ball, choosing a slip of paper as a child would choose a chocolate biscuit. Eventually, her claw snatches a slip of paper, and she draws it toward her. Time seems to slow almost to a stop as she opens it, her mouth curls into a smile. She looks up and announces to the crowd that the girl to be competing in the 74th annual Hunger Games is not Katniss.

It's the girl with only one slip in thousands.

"Primrose Everdeen"

* * *

** Review if you have any criticisms or praise, we'd love to hear them, either of them. This fanfiction was written with my friend, Ellen.**


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2:

Primrose Everdeen.

Primrose Everdeen.

One slip. Her name was in that ball a single time, one single time. The odds couldn't have been _more_ in her favour. Revulsion overcomes me, and I'm not the only one experiencing this. People always get upset when a twelve year old is chosen, especially Primrose. It seems a waste of a life, to be ended so young. My face reddens with guilt as a small, tiny flicker of relief burns in my stomach. Katniss is safe, at least for another year. However, the next few weeks would push her little family to their limits, watching Prim's ordeals and likely death.

The crowd is upset, people recognise Primrose. She and her mother take care of the sick people in the Seam. No doubt Primrose is an exceptional healer, but healers are not killers. She won't last long in the Games.

I scan the crowds and find my prize. Katniss' face has drained of blood. She stares at her sister, eyes wide in horror. She sways and begins to fall. A boy catches her before she hits the ground, and I feel jealous for a moment.

"Not the time, Peeta" I mutter under my breath. Katniss is watching her sister take small steps to death. Primrose's face is chalky white, and her hands are clenched in fists at her sides. She is trembling as those around her shy away, as though afraid that they might be mistaken for her. Her clothes are too big for her and her blouse has come untucked at the back. It isn't unusual to see kids from the Seam wearing overlarge clothes handed down by older family members.

I want to run out there and stop it, but only a boy can't volunteer to take another girl's place. Once a tribute's name is drawn, another eligible boy, if the chosen tribute is a boy, or girl if the chosen tribute is a girl, can volunteer to take their place. Briefly, I wonder if I might step forward to take the boy tribute's place. I could protect Prim for Katniss, I owe her that much.

"Prim!" Katniss screams, clawing her way through the crowd who quickly make way for her. "Prim!" She starts to run towards her sister. As she gets closer, she becomes more and more frantic. Her movements become erratic, pushing against people, sprinting towards Primrose. The Peacekeepers close in, pushing her back into the crowd. She struggles, fighting against them. Usually, family members don't try to stop the tributes when they come forward. Like with my family, they are already dead to them when their name is called out. Most people are so prepared that surprise barely registers with them. The odds had been so completely in Prim's favour that it hadn't occurred to anyone that she might be chosen.

They will drag Katniss away. I hope she doesn't get hurt. Katniss sees them coming and her expression turns to one of utter panic. As one reaches for her arm she yells something. My heart almost stops. It had never even occurred to me. How could it not occur to me?

"I volunteer!" she screams, "I volunteer as tribute!" Prim's expression mirrors mine; complete horror. I can't lose Katniss, I can't let her die. Yet I am helpless to stop her. Her eyes have a steely determination in them, and as the Peacekeepers return to their positions she stares right at Effie. I think I'm going to pass out. Effie is saying something, but I'm concentrating too hard on breathing deeply and keeping up the oxygen flow to my brain to listen.

Effie says something about protocol, but the Mayor waves aside her complaints with a thin "What does it matter?" He is looking at Katniss. I remember that she and the Mayor's daughter hang out at school, or at least they sit together at lunch. I've only ever seen them together at school. Still, the Mayor must know her because he looks upset. Katniss stares back at him without expression.

The Mayor must hate the idea of the Games as much as the rest of us. After all, his daughter is eligible to become a tribute. She couldn't be in many times; her family would be well off. Ten minutes ago her chances of being chosen would have seemed non-existent, but Primrose's misfortune has brought everything into perspective. No one was safe. "What does it matter?" says the Mayor again.

Primrose is tugging at Katniss, begging her not to go. A tall man steps forward. I recognise him as Katniss' friend, Gale. Another wave of jealousy hits me. My priorities are not right today. He pulls Primrose away from Katniss and brings her towards Katniss' mother. Prim is punching and kicking him but he seems not to feel it.

Katniss turns and stalks resolutely forward and onto the stage. Effie's a bit surprised by the events, usually District 12 is the most boring District that takes part in the Games. She composes herself and plasters a ridiculous smile on her face.

Effie asks Katniss her name. I feel pity for her. I couldn't imagine how she was feeling. I don't want to know. I realise that I'm shaking and try to calm my nerves. Regardless of what happens, I am going to the Capitol with her. If I have to die protecting her then that's good enough for me.

"Katniss Everdeen" she answers. Her voice is a stark contrast to Effie's Capitol accent.

"I bet my buttons that was your sister. Don't want her to steal all the glory, do we?" I can see from her face that Katniss is wondering where the glory is in slaughtering other people to save yourself. "Come on everybody!" Effie beckons excitedly to the crowd. "Let's give a big round of applause to our newest tribute!"

I look around. Never have I heard a silence so loud. Not a single person applauds, and everyone seems to be holding their breath. I see a man to my left shift. He brings his middle three fingers to his lops in a kiss and holds them high in the air. Others see, and soon follow suit. I raise my hand, kissing my fingers. I hold them high. This is a symbol of saying goodbye to those you love. It feels inadequate compared to how I feel.

Before Katniss can react to this sign of goodbye, Haymitch staggers onto the stage.

"Look at her. Look at this one!" he cries. His voice is remarkably coherent for such an inebriated man. Haymitch throws himself around Katniss in an odorous grip. "Lots of..." he continues, searching for the right word. "Spunk". He relinquishes his grip on Katniss and starts forward, pointing at the camera which is trained on him. "More than you!" he yells, pointing at the lens. "More than you!" He falls off the stage. While all cameras are filming him being carried away on a stretcher I look at Katniss. Her face crumples into one of despair for a single, fleeting second. She quickly composes herself and stares stonily ahead.

"What an exciting day" thrills Effie. She's trying to hype up the audience again. "But more excitement to come! It's time to choose our boy tribute." I look at Katniss. Her eyes are on Gale.

I don't have time to hope for anything before Effie snatches up the first name her hands touch. She obviously wants to be out of this town of aggressive drunkards and hysterical families as soon as possible. She totters back to the microphone and smiles to read the name. It's me. She's just read my name. Peeta Mellark. My mind goes blank as I stare at her. She's smiling at the crowd, looking for her next victim. People are pushing me towards the stage. I go on autopilot and simply move forward, right leg, left leg, right leg, left leg.

I look up at Katniss and she looks right back at me for what seems like the first time, but it's not. I remember the first time.

The ovens were blazing and sweat was trickling down my brow to soak my shirt. I remember thinking that it must have been cold outside; the windows were completely fogged up. My head jerked up from my work as I heard my Mother yelling at someone outside. Without thinking I moved to the door and peeked out from behind her.

A girl stood at our bins, the lid poised in the air as though she had been looking for scraps of food in the garbage. She was painfully thin and soaking wet, she was shivering violently as my mother screamed at her. She seemed dizzy as she stumbled away from the bins and through the garden. As she walked away she looked back at us. At me. My Mother grumbled and moved back inside, but I stood watching her. Her name was Katniss Everdeen, she was in my year in school and ever since the first time that I had seen her I had been in love with her.

I could tell that she no longer felt, or cared about, the cold. She walked behind the pig pen and huddled under our old apple tree. If no one helped her she would die there. I couldn't let that happen.

The heat from the ovens seemed even more intense when I returned to my post in front of the ovens. Vaguely, I heard my Mother yelling at me to take out the bread. This was my one and only chance. If I dropped some of the bread my Mother would make me throw it away and I could give it to Katniss. Of course, she would be furious. It would probably earn me a beating, but what was that next to Katniss' life?

When my Mother was not looking, I dropped two loaves into the fire and yelped. She turned to see me fishing them out of the fire.

"Look what you've done" she screamed and stomped over. I was helpless to resist as she backhanded me across the jaw. She hit me so hard that I went flying into the sink. She flung the bread at me. I scooped them into my arms as she grabbed me by the scruff and shoved me into the yard.

"Feed it to the pig, you stupid creature!" she yelled. "Why not? No one decent will buy burned bread!" She slammed the door shut and suddenly it was just me and her. Katniss stared at me as I ripped off small chunks of the bread and threw it into the trough. My mother was in the front bakery, taking care of a customer. I glanced back at the bakery to check that she had not sent one of my brothers to man the ovens. The coast was clear. I turned my gaze back to the pig and flung the bread in her direction, first one loaf and then the other. She never said a word and I quickly returned inside. Not in my whole time out there did I so much as glance at her.

To this very day, the guilt eats away at me from the inside out. Why hadn't I gone out to help her, rather than just throwing a few crummy morsels of bread at her? Why hadn't I brought her in and helped her rather than treating her like a common beggar? She probably resents me. I would in her position.

After the incident with the bread I watched Katniss all the time. Between classes in school, when she was walking home. When she'd glance up I'd look away. Her face was always an unreadable mask. I haven't seen the real Katniss in years but I can see her now. Dreaming of the woods.

Effie asks for volunteers. No one moves. I wouldn't have dreamed of Nayhan volunteering for me in a million years, but this seems so final. Somehow I am still disappointed in him. Not that I would let him take my place.

The Mayor reads the Treaty of Treason and Katniss and I shake hands. I look at her and give her what I hope is a reassuring squeeze. The anthem begins to play, and all I can think about is how it will play in the sky above the arena as my face is shown.

And I can't help but think that it will be an arrow that kills me.


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter 3

As the anthem ends a group of peacekeepers come forward and march us through the doors of the Justice Building. Katniss is staring straight ahead, emotionless as ever, but I am barely holding in my anxiety. The next hour is allotted for the tributes to say goodbye to their family and friends.

I'm left alone in a room adorned with highly polished furniture and plush, overstuffed armchairs. Normally I'd be outraged that this room is decorated with such obvious wealth, yet outside people are starving on a daily basis, but I'm a little preoccupied now.

The door opens and I turn to see my father being escorted into the room by a peacekeeper. He tries to smile reassuringly, but fails entirely. We look at each other for a moment.

"I…I'm going to…miss you". There. Goodbye. I'm not even gone yet, and he's preparing a eulogy. I know that there's no chance of me of coming back to District 12 unless I'm in a coffin, but it's one thing to know it yourself, quite another for your father to point it out to you. He strides across the room and clasps my shoulders in his mammoth hands. It's a comforting gesture, but I wish for more. I open my arms and we hug, giving each other strength.

"I saw the way that you looked at her", he says quietly, and I raise my head slowly to meet his eyes, expecting to find anger or confusion, but all I see there is a sad kind of understanding. He knows exactly what I'm doing; he knows how irresistible the Everdeen girls can be. He loved Katniss' mom once, but she was never really interested in him. He knows what I'm going through more than anyone else. He remembers the pain of unrequited love. The Peacekeepers come and lead him from the room.

My mother and I have never been on good terms, so when she is admitted I am unsure of how to react. She raises her arms as though to embrace me, then changes her mind and allows them to swing at her sides. We look at each other for a moment. She smiles sadly at me, tears beginning to brim up in her eyes.

"Maybe District 12 will finally have a winner" she says. I grimace back at her; I don't want her lying in a desperate attempt to make me feel better. What she says next makes my stomach drop.

"She's a survivor, that one". She. Katniss is the one that everyone will put their faith into. Mother's admitted that she thinks of me as dead. It hurts, but it's not unexpected. Even I know that I'll lay down my life if it means that Katniss will survive because of it. I'm not coming home, but it would just be nice to have someone who believes in me. She wraps me in her arms, but it's more out of necessity than anything else. A show for the people who aren't watching.

When she leaves I sit down and try to hold back tears that are threatening to spill. I'm not going to mark myself as a weakling. I'm going to give myself every chance I can to stay alive long enough to help Katniss.

The door swings open and I look up to see Brion. His face is white and his eyes are red from crying. He strides across the room and hugs me. I'm amazed – Brion and I have never had that much to do with each other. My shoulder is getting wet, he must be crying again. I pull him onto the couch with me and push him off.

"What's up with you?" I ask him. "We barely speak for years, and now you're blubbering over me like we've been inseparable since birth!"

"It's because of me! If I hadn't been such an idiot, you wouldn't have had to sign up for tesserae, and you wouldn't be in this mess. This is my fault!" he chokes.

"Brion, I…" I start, but I don't know what to say. I had been hoping to keep the fact that I'd have volunteered anyway a secret, but I can't die and leave Brion blaming himself for it. "You have to know, this isn't your fault. I'd be going to the Capitol even if I hadn't taken the tesserae".

He snorts at that, "Come on Peeta, you don't need to be a genius to know the chances. Your name was in there more often than it should have been-"

I cut him off, "No, I mean I'd have volunteered"

He stares at me for a while, trying to think back and decide what could have unhinged me to such an extent that I would consider volunteering for a grotesque death.

"Why?" is all he can manage to say.

I shrug, a blush creeping up my neck. His eyes widen with understanding.

"You love her, don't you?" he says, sounding as heartbroken as I feel. I nod. It feels good to be able to share this with someone after hiding it for so long.

The Peacekeepers come in once more and Brion and I hug each other as a goodbye. He is taken away by Peacekeepers and as I start to follow one says that I have another visitor. I'm surprised; I'm not expecting anyone else. I sit and wait impatiently for my mystery visitor. Eventually the door opens and Nayhan walks in.

"Hey", he says a little sheepishly.

"Hey yourself", I reply, "I…wasn't expecting to see you".

"I wasn't expecting to come", he answers.

There is a very awkward silence that lasts for several seconds. I want him to hurry up and say what he needs to say, I can feel my time running out.

"I'm sorry for, well, everything really", he shrugs with an attempt at nonchalance, "I've treated you like dirt for as long as I can remember, and you didn't deserve it. Are you able to forgive me?"

I'm amazed. The only time 'Nayhan' and 'apologise' are ever in the same sentence is when there's a 'doesn't' in between them. He must be feeling _really_ guilty. I forgive him, and we start chattering about trivial things until the Peacekeepers come and take him away, which is annoying, as this is the first time that we've ever been able to talk without there being an exchange of blows.

He leaves, and I start to cry. It is sudden and uncontrollable, a delayed reaction I suppose. I wonder what I am doing – Katniss practically lives in the woods, she goes there every day. I bake bread every day. She knows how to hunt, how to make a shelter, how to go unnoticed. What am I thinking of, trying to help someone like that? The Capitol will love Katniss, she is beautiful and brave and deadly, all of the things that they love. What chance does a baker have of even making it past the first day?

A Peacekeeper opens the door and I follow him out of the Justice Building to the car that will bring us to the station. Katniss and I sit on opposite sides of Effie in the car. Effie starts to talk excitedly and I tune out. A crowd has gathered at the entrance to the station and I see lenses flashing in the sunlight as the car stops. Camera crews swarm around us as we get out of the car, and I look resolutely ahead as cameras zoom in on my tear-stained face.

Of course, Katniss is perfectly composed; she looks almost bored as the Peacekeepers carve a path for us to the train. It is a sleek silver Capitol train, built for speed. It hovers a few inches above the tracks. Effie forces us to stop at the doorway of the train to allow the cameras to capture us at every angle. I can hear high-pitched Capitol accents amid the chaos, all of them commenting on my tears and Katniss' lack thereof.

Finally we walk inside and the doors shut behind us, and as Effie starts to yammer on about how high-class the train is, it starts to pull away from the station, gaining speed rapidly. Effie shows us to our rooms and tells us to relax, but just to be ready for dinner in an hour. As I open the door into my room I see Haymitch stagger past. He looks over to see me staring. "Nap", he slurs as he trips over the threshold.

I enter my own room. They are done up in the typical Capitol style, almost painfully colourful and full of ostentation. The bed is king sized and the drawers are brimming with outfits. I am ready to collapse onto the bed, but I force myself to enter the bathroom.

The shower is insane; there are about fifty buttons which activate features ranging from scented body wash to thick pastes. With great difficulty I manage to make the water warm and then I jab at a button randomly and hope that it will issue some kind of body wash. Despite myself, I enjoy the shower and the random button makes large pink bubbles that cling to me and practically melts the dirt from my skin.

Afterwards I pull on new clothes and sit on the bed and rest my head against the headboard. I wait for the tears to come, but they're elusive. I'll never see my family again. I'll never feel the overwhelming heat form the ovens as the bread bakes. I'll never feel the comforting weight of the piping bag between my hands. My life won't be my own from this point on, every moment will be planned to perfection. Each second that I spend in the public eye will be orchestrated so as to provide the maximum amount of entertainment. I'll be on show for the whole of Panem, chauffeured around and shown off like a prize pig.

It was worth it for Katniss.

I go for supper to avoid any more depressing thoughts. I sit down at the table in the dining room, and wait for Effie to arrive with Katniss. The table is a deep mahogany and the dishes look as though they might break if you look at them too hard.

"Where's Haymitch", Effie says brightly as she and Katniss arrive.

"Last time I saw him, he said he was going to take a nap", I say, though 'mumbled incoherently' is more akin to what he did. I am pleased that my voice appears even. Effie looks delighted at the prospect that the dinner might actually go according to her plans.

"Well, it's been an exhausting day", says Effie with the air of someone full of energy. She sits down and I watch as Katniss follows suit. Every dish served is superior to anything that I have ever tasted; a carrot soup, salad, lamb chops, fruit, cheese and a chocolate cake. Effie observes our cutlery-handling skills with unrestrained delight and constantly reminds us to pace ourselves as there are more courses to come, but Katniss and I ignore her cheerfully.

"At least you two have manners", says Effie as the main course is cleared away, "The pair last year ate everything with their hands like a couple of savages". She sniffs delicately, "It completely upset my digestion". I know that she does not mean to insult us, but Katniss narrows her eyes, no doubt thinking of how the tributes last year had been, as was the norm, from the Seam. Even though I have never exactly gone hungry, I can hardly restrain myself, but those kids probably hadn't had a decent meal in their lives.

Katniss eats desert entirely with her hands, smearing her hands in chocolate and making appreciative sounds in between bite. She them wipes her chocolate-covered hands on the tablecloth. Effie stares at her with pursed lips, too dignified to pass comment.

When I feel that I can move without throwing up, we catch up on Reapings from earlier. I only remember a strong looking, burly tribute from District 2. His is one of the weirdo's who actually want to be a tribute. In District 12 we call people like him Career Tributes, and they train for the Games for their whole lives.

Effie is upset about the state of her wig after Haymitch upset it, "Your mentor has a lot to learn about presentation. A lot about televised behaviour , she says huffily. It seems absurd how she could possibly be upset about that when she was the one that drew our names from the Reaping ball. I cannot hold back the laugh that escapes me.

"He was drunk", I laugh, "He's drunk every year".

"Every day", Katniss points out. I'm glad that she has not decided to turn me away as a future target to practice on.

"Yes", Effie hisses, "How odd that you two find it amusing. You know your mentor is your lifeline to the world in these Games. The one who advises you, lines up your sponsors, and dictates the presentation of any gifts. Haymitch may well be the difference between your life and your death".

I shudder. Our lives, Katniss' life, is the in the hands of a man who must find it difficult to find his way to the bathroom in his drunken state. My job of protecting her has just gotten a whole lot harder.

On cue, Haymitch staggers into the room and looks around. "I miss supper?" he asks loudly, but before anyone can answer he pukes, splattering the carpet with the vile stuff and then promptly collapses into it.

Effie edges around the vomit, "So laugh away", she says haughtily and stalks off down the hall, leaving us with our mentor, our lifeline, lying in a pool of his own vomit.


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter 4

For an insane moment I want to laugh. It all seems ridiculous, we're rushing to the Capitol at 250 miles per hour and our mentor is kneeling in his own vomit, completely disregarding the fact that he is supposed to be preparing us for the games. Still, he is all that we have.

Katniss and I exchange a glance. Effie may be silly and self-centred, but she's been doing this longer than we have. She's had to deal with Haymitch every year. She's seen just as many tributes die as everyone else back in District 12. She may be from the Capitol, but she knows what she's talking about.

Katniss and I reluctantly move to help the drunken mess out of the pool of his own vomit. He is blearily trying to recover from the fall, but with an entire brewery of liquor sloshing around in him, he doesn't have much success.

"I tripped?" he mumbles. "Smells bad." We agree. He promptly smears his face with some vomit that has found its way to his hands.

"Let's get you back to your room" I say. "Clean you up a bit." We drag him back to his room and guide him to the bathroom. We push him into the bath tub. He closes his eyes when we turn the shower on him, and I see Katniss staring at him with an expression that is half despair, half disgust.

"It's okay" I tell her. "I'll take it from here."

She looks surprised and I wonder if she'll refuse to go.

"Alright, I'll send one of the capitol people to help you" she says. I think of the silent attendants on the train and shiver.

"No. I don't want them" I say. Katniss nods and leaves.

I continue the distasteful task of cleansing our Mentor. I wonder about his need for the drink. What had he gone through in there that could have reduced him to a state of constant drunkenness? What could have possibly affected him so badly that he couldn't bear to face the world sober? I realise how hard it must be for him to watch tribute after tribute die in the Games, to know that he could do nothing to help them. That would make anyone want to hide from the world.

I get to work, peeling off his shirt and sponging down his vomit-encrusted body. He occasionally groans in protest, but is too inebriated to put up a fight. I allow my mind to empty of thoughts. Thoughts of family, District 12, baking, they all fade into the background until all that I am left with is Katniss. That shining image of her on the first day of school, singing with a voice so pure that even the songbirds stop to listen. Katniss, a girl who barely even knows me, but I'm willing to sacrifice myself for her.

I turn the water to the coldest setting and spray it in Haymitch's face. He splutters, but the shock is enough to sober him up for a moment.

"Listen," I hiss, spittle flying into his face. "Katniss is going to win this thing, and I'm going to help her. You had better understand that you are going to help her too, whether you like it or not." Haymitch looks slightly bewildered at this turn of events, so he just nods. I push him away and drain the bath of water. Grabbing one of the fluffy towels, I pat him dry and half carry him to his bed.

I go back to my room and slip under the blankets. The sheets at home are coarse and scratchy in comparison to the silkily soft ones that caress my skin now. It's like sinking into a hot bath. I feel suddenly sleepy. I feel the train gliding over the tracks like a bullet through the night. Like an arrow-

I realise that I actually hate myself.

I try to distract myself. I drift back to a few years ago. My love for Katniss had reached a fever pitch and I needed a reason to have some regular communication with her. As she spent all the time that she wasn't in school out hunting, I decided that I'd try my hand at it. I spent one day simply hovering beside the fence, too nervous to duck under. The next day I went back and after several hours of deliberation I plucked up the courage to dart into the woods. I must have only gone about twenty feet before a frightened rabbit rustled some bushes nearby. I raced back to the fence. I must have looked like a madman, scrambling under the fence and back home.

I kept going back, each time getting slightly further. However, I never went more than a ten minute walk from the fence. One day while I was sitting under a large sycamore tree, I heard the soft padding of paws behind me. A wolf was pacing along a path, sniffing the ground. Suddenly he stopped and turned to me. Our eyes met, but not for long. I turned and ran for the fence, hoping against hope that the wolf wasn't hungry. The pounding sounds behind me said otherwise. The wolf was too fast, and I wouldn't be able to outrun him. I made for the nearest tree and leapt as high as I could. I grabbed onto a thick bough and pulled myself up onto the limb. Looking down, I could see the wolf circling the tree, snarling up at me.

Time passed and night arrived. The wolf seemed to have endless patience. I decided to call him Nayhan as a joke. He lay down to sleep under the tree. I waited until he was in a fairly deep sleep. Slowly, carefully, I pushed myself from the bough. Not looking back to see whether or not I had disturbed the wolf, I sprinted as fast as I could towards the fence. I scrambled under and looked back to see the wolf snarling at me from behind some bushes. I never went back into the forest after that.

When I finally manage to fall asleep after many more hours than should have been necessary, I dream that I am in the woods. I hear the distant crack of a twig being stepped on and feel a sharp stab of fear up my spine. I launch myself away down the rough trail. My hooves glide effortlessly over the soft earth, thumping in rhythm with my heart. Nothing can stop me, I am a force of nature, young, wild, free and-

I see the arrow coming but it is too late. I feel a searing pain in my side and blood gushes forth. I wheeze and slow as blood flows freely from the gaping hole in my side. My hooves thrash as unbearable pain fills every recess of my mind with blinding white light. I manage a few stuttering steps before my legs fold beneath me and I lie down on the leaves. The ground is cold and the leaves cling to my cheek as I raise my head to watch my doom approach. The arrow is lodged in my stomach, protruding grossly from my pulped flesh. Blood bubbles around the wound, around the gaping hole that is punched in my side. The pain is beyond belief.

I try to move myself into the cover of a thorn bush, off the path. Perhaps they won't find me there and I could fall asleep in peace. The arrow twists grotesquely, shredding my skin as I try to shift my bulk. My hooves are kicking in the air, sending sickening stabs of pain through me, but I can't stop. I had to move, escape.

"We got it, we got the deer Gale!" a voice calls and two humans come running into view. They look at my fallen form with unrestrained joy, looking at the blood flowing freely, staining my heaving side dark red. The female pulls out a knife and grins at her partner. The male smiles back.

"Nice pelt too!" he says as the girl, with one deft flick of her wrist, cuts my throat.

I wake with a gasp. Katniss killed me. Sure, I was a deer, but she will still be the hunter, me her prey in just a few days. I shower, emptying my mind of such thoughts.

I go to the dining car for breakfast. Some of the servers are cleaning, preparing the car for the day. They look surprised to see me awake so early, but leave me to please myself. I grab myself a round orange fruit from an iced tureen. The juice is bittersweet and makes my mouth tingle pleasantly. I take another and sit down to eat.

A serving girl comes over with a large silver jug. She points to it, offering me some. I nod in appreciation. The servers never speak, simply nod or make hand gestures. She pours the drink into a cup and I am dismayed to see brown liquid, thinking that it is coffee. Father bought us coffee once for our meal after the reaping. My mouth filled with saliva while he was preparing it, smelling that rich, indulgent aroma. The taste was horribly bitter though, and I have disliked it since.

She offers me the cup and smiles. I politely take a sip and a rich, creamy taste fills my mouth. My eyes widen in surprise and her lips stretch into a grin. She turns away, but I stop her and take the jug. She nearly laughs, and turns back to her work.

I down two cups of the drink, closing my eyes to savour the indulgent taste. One of the serving men puts a basket of fresh rolls on the table I take one, break it into chunks and dip it into the beverage.

The door opens and I look up to see Haymitch. He looks much better than he did the previous night, but that wasn't saying much.

"Try some" I say, pointing to the jug. He peers at the contents.

"No hot chocolate for me, I'm on the hard stuff" he says while taking out a flask of spirits. He pours himself a glass of crimson juice and dilutes it with some of the alcohol. I shrug and carry on dipping my bread in the chocolate.

I am reaching for another roll when the door opens. Katniss steps inside. I blush, embarrassed. I don't know, why, all I'm doing is reaching for a roll. I dip the bread in the chocolate, waiting for my cheeks to return to their normal colour.

"Sit down! Sit down!" says Haymitch, gesturing to the seat beside me. She takes a cup of the chocolate.

"They call it hot chocolate," I say. "It's good." She tastes some, and her face lights up in a smile. Katniss drinks the whole cup and starts feasting on anything and everything she can reach. Haymitch hardly touches his food, instead thinning his liquor with juice. After the other two eat their fill, we all sit back contentedly.

"So, you're supposed to give us advice." says Katniss, pointedly looking at Haymitch. He looks up and a hint of a smile plays on his lips.

"Here's some advice. Stay alive." He throws back his head and laughs. Katniss and I look at each other. I am furious. I can't keep this girl alive on my own.

"That's very funny." I can feel the anger bubbling up inside me. I suddenly lash out and knock the glass of liquor from his hand. It smashes to pieces on the floor. "Only not to us." I finish.

Before I can react, Haymitch punches me in the jaw. I topple out of my chair, lights exploding behind my eyes. I open them to see Haymitch reaching for his drink. I hear a thud from the table. Haymitch goes still. I stand up to see the knife quivering between his hand and the glass, millimetres from his fingers.

"Well, what's this?" he says nonchalantly. "Did I actually get a pair of fighters this year?"

I take a handful of ice from the tureen of fruit and raise it to my throbbing face.

"No," commands Haymitch. "Let the bruise show. The audience will think you've mixed it up with another tribute before you've even made it to the arena."

"That's against the rules." I point out.

"Only if they catch you. That bruise will say you fought, you weren't caught, even better."

He turns to Katniss. "Can you hit anything with that knife besides a table?" She plucks the knife from the table, turns and lets it fly. I am taken aback by her skill. The point lands right in the seam where two panels meet.

"Stand over here. Both of you" says Haymitch, pointing to the middle of the room. He circles us, prodding us like we were animals.

"Well, you're not entirely hopeless. Seem fit. And once the stylists get hold of you, you'll be attractive enough." I think of Katniss and want to laugh; 'attractive enough' hardly describes her.

"All right, I'll make a deal with you. You don't interfere with my drinking, and I'll stay sober enough to help you. But you have to do exactly as I say." It seems like a bit of a raw deal to me, but we won't be getting anything better.

"Fine" I say.

"So help us," says Katniss. "When we get to the arena, what's the best strategy at the Cornucopia for someone-"

Haymitch cuts her off. "One thing at a time. In a few minutes, we'll be pulling into the station. You'll be put in the hands of your stylists. You're not going to like what they do to you. But no matter what it is, don't resist."

"But -"complains Katniss.

"No buts. Don't resist." With that, he turns and leaves the car, taking a bottle of a clear spirit with him.

The car goes dark. We have entered the tunnel that will lead us directly into the Capitol, the city built on the poverty of thousands. We leave the tunnel and I am overwhelmed. Outside the window is a glistening metropolis, magnificent in every way. The version we had seen on television every year was a grubby back street compared to this glistening centre of grandeur. The people begin to point towards our train. The clothes are one of the strangest thing we see; bright colours almost painful to look at, not the muted hues of the garments worn in the Districts. People are happy to see us, despite the fact that they will soon watch me, and twenty two others die.

Despicable they may be, but these people will be the ones that sponsor Katniss, any of these people could end up saving her life. I move towards the window, smiling and waving. I need to get sponsors so that I can help Katniss. I turn to see that Katniss has taken a step back, repulsed.

"Who knows?" I ask. "One of them may be rich."

I can't understand the sudden resentment in her eyes as they narrow at me.


End file.
